That's All He Wrote
by emptymatchbox
Summary: In which Harry is a writer, a father, and has served his time, but sometimes things don't always play out the way he intends them to, both in real life and in the worlds he manages to create. / Or Harry is a stay-at-home dad and writes, Tommy Riddle is just the name of a storybook character, and there are some things so precious not even magic can create. / Modern AU, no magic.
1. Chapter 1

Title: That's All He Wrote

Summary: Harry is a writer, and things, well, they don't always play out the way he wants them to, both in real life and in the worlds he manages to create. / Or in which Harry is a stay-at-home dad and writes, Ginny travels with a gun in her bag, Hermione doubles as an annoying publisher and friend, and Tommy Riddle is just the name of a storybook character. / Modern AU. / No magic.

AN: YES, I know I should be working in Hello, but I had a writer's block that I needed to unclog. (ALSO: If the Next Gen's ages are wrong, well... it's an AU. Deal.)

Is this going to be a chapter fic? Yes. Will it be finished? It almost is. But is there a guaranteed finish?

...

Enjoy.

* * *

Harry is the worst writer he has ever had the misfortune to meet.

Even worse, his kids are the ones who inspire him.

James, the ever persistent eight-year-old, demands a story every single night. Now with his six-year-old brother trailing behind him and Lily hot on their heels, the risk of a riot skyrocketed, though secretly, Harry doesn't mind. (He just thinks about Lily, and if she'll chase after her father's old tales like her brothers did.)

But without much money from an army pension and a tight budget, they've never really gone out to buy books.

So Harry wrote. Being a stay-at-home dad, he had the time.

His first one was horrible, with numerous grammatical errors and inconsistent character values. But, he pulls through, and soon his children want more.

The tales of Thomas 'Tommy' Riddle are legends in his household. If he could pull off making a world for his three children, why can't he just expand his audience?

Good writers with good novels are hard to come by, Harry thinks one day after a cheap class he signed up for, and even harder to compete with.

* * *

"Luna's gotten an appointment with Gilderoy Lockheart." Harry bemoaned one day before sinking into the head chair of the kitchen table ( _-the varnished wood gives off a clean gleam that catches Tommy's eye-_ ) and sulking. "You know, that bestselling author? Hermione got her in. If Luna's lucky, Gilderoy might refer her to a big publishing company."

"Good for Luna." Ginny stated, pouring the hot liquid into the mug next to his right hand.

The teabag's old from the use of two nights before, but Harry didn't protest. Instead, he began to stir the liquid with his spoon. (Which needs washing- he used that spoon earlier today to spread peanut butter on his toast [Since when did he turn so American?]) "I love Luna, but honestly, it's- it's-"

"It's Luna?" Ginny asked, raising an eyebrow and sighing. She pulled the chair at his right and stole a sip of hot tea before she sat. "And?"

Harry took a tired gulp of tea. It tastes more of peanut butter and orange flavored water, but it would do. "It's not my fault every idea's been used and reused."

"Harry, you don't have to become a serious writer." Ginny shrugged and gave him a look- it's the one she gives him whenever he's beginning to spiral into self-pity mode. "And if you really want to give Hermione something of yours to publish, just write one of your stories from the war. Or, one of the stories you tell James and Al."

"Gin," Harry sighed, closing his eyes and running two very frustrated hands into his hair. Because whatever she's thinking, it won't work. Good novels aren't just stories about some outdated war hero or tyrannosaurus rexes or whatever. Good stories- those are hard to come by these days.

"Why don't you send the manuscripts of the _Tommy Riddle_ series?"

Though the said series was what inspired him to write, the Tommy Riddle series was a private thing. It also didn't help that most publishers preferred dystopian, young adult novels. (At least, according to _pixiespieandpizza_ 's blog.)

In response, Harry sent her a look mixed of _Ginny,_ _I love you, but please stop,_ and _We've talked about this before._

Ginny huffed before rising, taking his steaming mug with him. "You'll be able to work some magic, alright? Don't stress about it." She said, like she always does. Then she exited into the hallway, leaving Harry to tug his hair once and groan in exhaustion.

* * *

It's a Monday.

The kids are all at school, save for Lily, who was pretending to be a hybrid of a pirate-princess-fairy. At the moment, she was occupied with feeding Hedwig, James's stuffed owl. (Harry didn't have the heart to tell his elder son to let go of his childhood toy, so he just let Lily kidnap the poor owl for the day.)

Harry sat in the desk, which resided. at the far corner of the living room.

Though he could see his daughter well from this particular right angle, he always feels like he's back in school whenever he sits here- always determined to keep to the back of Professor Snape's class, determined not to meet the chemistry teacher's stinking eye.

The feeling of a small hand tugging his pajama pants doesn't help his mood.

Lily's brown eyes glowed at him. "Are you making a Tommy story?"

After the boys had patiently mentored their sister (read: shoved into a room for hours until she was brain-washed to become another fan) of the Tommy Riddle series, she had been constantly begging for more.

At Harry's lack of response, she tugged harder. "Daddy?"

Harry shook himself from another early morning daze. "Sorry, love- yes?"

"Are you making a Tommy story?"

"Love, Daddy's working." He states, taking off his glasses to rub his eye's briefly.

"But Tommy Riddle's awesome."

Yet another word she had learned from the boys, aside from 'Cretaceous' and 'archaeologist.' Between the influence his son had made and Dinosaur Train, their household is turning more American. "Love," he repeated, "Daddy's working."

"Awesome." She echoed from her past sentence, and if it was possible her eyes glowed even more with the same ethereal light.

"Lily."

"Daddy."

A sigh. Harry closed his eyes and placed a palm over them, massaging his temples with his thumb and middle finger. The round frames sit beside the mouse, silent.

Opening his eyes, he saw a small blur of auburn. He wasn't sure if it's due to the lack of glasses or the fact that he's been editing several of his failed manuscripts. (When he speaks of several, it's more like two. Or one and a half. Or maybe just a half. Alright, the dystopian, young adult novel he's been working on has barely 10,000 words, but he can't say he feels 'inspired' to continue it.) "Maybe, love."

"Daddy." She continues to press. _At the sight of Theodore's purple pools, Tommy-_

Shut up, Harry thinks to the Tommy Riddle train of thought before focusing on his daughter. "Probably, kiddo." But before her lip can even think about curling into a pout, he relents: "Yes, of course."

Temporarily appeased, the pirate-princess-fairy hybrid headed back to Hedwig, who was starting to look rather lonely by the teacups.

Harry turned back to the screen, black from the lack of usage. He swivels his mouse a few times before Microsoft Word popped back up, the last page of the YA manuscript staring back at him challengingly.

He gave it another glare before opening up a blank document. Maybe it would be better if he wrote one more Tommy Riddle story- it might get rid of his writer's block.

By the time lunch arrives, the second Tommy Riddle story he had started today was 20,000 words and only halfway done.

Looking back at his oldest Tommy Riddle stories, Harry realized that Tommy could use more than two chapters to reach his goal. In fact, if Harry did it right, he could probably meld two or three of Tommy's stories into one arching novel.

Hm. Interesting.

* * *

" _The snake hissed back at him. 'You pathetic creature.'_

 _Tommy shrugged. 'You're the one who's less than a foot long._ '"

"A foot?" Albus asked, bursting into laughter and raising his foot, just to show his wiggling toes. The blanket covering all four of them (Ginny was making tea,) drapes the younger boy's leg before sliding down with a near-silent _poof_. "Ew!"

"A foot's a measurement in America," James tried to explain, slowly pronouncing the word measurement, as if he were speaking to a dog. "Right, Dad?"

"Yes!" Harry said, ruffling his hair and bringing him close. There's barely any room left on the couch, so James' practically sits in his lap. "You're pretty smart."

"So am I!"

"Me too!"

Harry grinned, watching his family interact with each other. Maybe this Tommy Riddle thing wasn't such a bad idea after all.

* * *

tbc.

* * *

AN: I have several prewritten chapters, so I'll probably post soon. (I should ration them, but haha, since when can I?)


	2. Chapter 2

The look on Hermione's face as she read through _The Bombardments of Hilary Jackman_ made him want to squirm in the fancy leather seat he occupied.

Being the close friends that they were, he did. Hermione looked up, her pity seeping through her mask of pride, like an acne-infested face caked with bad concealer.

(Yes, he knows what concealer is. Ginny used to use it to hide her freckles until he complimented them. Then things escalated and- well. That was another story. Let's just say she still had to use it the next day, but for a different purpose.)

He didn't know whether to laugh or shrivel at Hermione's look, but he let her speak. "Harry, I can't publish this." She puts a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Though he doesn't want that half-completed thing to reach the market, Harry's shoulders still managed to slump in disappointment.

 _'I'm sorry,' Rosalind whispered to Tommy, 'but we can't.'_

"First of all, this isn't even completed. Second-"

 _'What, why?' Tommy asked._

 _'Because I don't love you.' She stated before turning into a hideous-_

"AH!" Harry exclaimed, jolting back into the world where Hermione Granger gave him plenty of disapproving looks.

Today, she felt merciful and only rolled her eyes at his antics- there went trying to keep things professional. "I know you can do better, Harry. I've read your other works."

That was good old Hermione- bringing him up while simultaneously bruising his ego. "Other works?"

Hermione blushed, as if she let out a secret. "Ginny's sent me a copy of _Tommy Riddle and the Dragon's Stone_ ," She began to explain, "to read to the kids. Harry, if you work on it, it'd be good. A bestseller, maybe."

Harry shook his head, rising out of the leather seat. "Thanks, but no thanks, 'Mione."

"Harry." She said, giving him an all-too familiar scolding look. "Just think about it."

"I will." Not, he added silently.

"Harry."

"Yeah?" At her smoldering glare, he cried out, "Okay! Okay, I'll think about it."

"Good." She outwardly relaxed, shoulders slumping. "Do you want to get lunch?"

At those words, any sign of lingering awkwardness was whisked away. "Sure. You chose the place, I'll pay."

* * *

Despite his words, he found himself crammed into his desk on Friday, fingers quick and mouse on standby and ready to edit and create the various scenarios of Tommy Riddle.

Sometimes, he'd catch himself rereading Tommy Riddle's misfortunes. Then he'd laugh, and then he'd stop and think: Shoot, he was falling for Tommy Riddle.

(Not romantically, of course, because ew. That would be disgusting. His love for Tommy Riddle was more like the fondness Harry felt for his kids.)

But no matter how great Tommy Riddle is, he is not going to consume Harry's life.

(Hopefully.)

* * *

It's a Saturday, and again Harry could only pick up a few phrases from Ron's mostly-incoherent rants.

"-and then we discovered that Rose reads this bloody thing called fan-fiction and apparently she's obsessed with them-"

"What's fan-fiction?" Harry interjected, truly innocent, holding the phone to his ear by using his shoulder. His free hands were currently cooking, while his bare feet were wiping off the floor what appeared to be green spaghetti.

The line went silent.

"Ron? Mate."

A series of coughs sounded from the other side of the line. "I'm-" Ron rasped, "-fine."

"But whatever you do," Ron continued, "don't read them. Save yourself."

"Ron?"

But the line was already dead.

Harry sighed over his friend's dramatics, dialing Hermione just in case something actually happened.

"Oh, hello Harry. Did you reconsider your choice?"

"You know, you could be really blunt sometimes," Harry said, but he let a chuckle cross the line. "How's Ron?"

"Funny that you mention him- he just choked on something, but he's fine now." Harry could hear her grin as she called away from the phone, "Ron, don't shove so much food in your mouth! Hugo needs to learn some manners and Rose- didn't I tell you no phones at the table? Ron! Put away yours, too!" Turning her attention back to Harry, she said, "Sorry, Harry."

"It's fine." Harry forgave, deciding not to point out the fact that Hermione was breaking her own rule. "Is Ron eating like a pig again?"

"How did you guess?"

The two friends shared a laugh.

"Well, I've got to start making lunch for Lils and myself... I'll see you later?"

"Preferably with a manuscript of Tommy Riddle in your hands," Hermione replied, half-joking and half-serious. "Bye, Harry."

"Bye, Hermione."

* * *

Despite the warning, he winded up at one (of the many, he would discover,) fan-fiction site and spend two hours blanching on how horrible the writing was: Sherlock and Khan were _not_ the same people, and neither were Smaug and Sherlock (for Pete's sake, Smaug was a _dragon_ ,) humans _were not_ all Time Lords who simply misplaced their watches, and Bilbo- Bilbo and Gandalf smut was possibly the worst nightmare ever created.

Seriously. Who had enough time to think about that?

Who had enough time to _write_ any of these?

But, he could still see why Rose would be obsessed over these. These writers didn't write because they were paid or threatened or whatever other ridiculous scenario that would make them begrudgingly type 50K-word solo pieces, (which were commonly referred to as 'oneshots,') they wrote because they wanted to, and it showed. Heck, he'd even admit that a handful of good pieces were out there.

And maybe he made an account just to find Rose (and to follow a hundred or so fics out there- what, those were the good ones!)

(Despite all that, Harry's never felt more glad to be a real, flesh-and-blood, human being. Goodness, if his life was in the hands of a hormonal twelve-year-old- just the thought made him internally cringe.)

For now, though, nothing's going to make him spiral down that dark path to writing fan-fiction. Tommy Riddle was already causing enough trouble.

* * *

"Harry, did you-"

"Nope, Hermione, sorry. I'm not going to accept your offer."

"But-"

"Bye."

* * *

It's a Sunday.

The kids have been put to bed earlier, so it would be easier for them to wake up in the morning. (Or at least, that's what Harry thinks.) Thus, it's an early bed time for Ginny and him too, and as Ginny is about to slither in to bed, she asked: "Do you ever have nightmares about them, Harry?"

"Think of who, Gin?" Harry asked, scooting to the right to make room for his wife and lying down. "Umbridge? Yeah, she was the worst Health and PE teacher ever." Harry mock-shivered. "Ugh, I can't believe she taught us Sex Ed."

She gave him an exasperated look. "Harry."

And he realized that she wasn't trying to get him to open up- she wanted to open up.

He sighed, running a hand through her hair and letting it play with the tips of a cluster of strands. "Yeah, of course I think about them." He remembered the time when he was back in Afghanistan, the grits of sand in his mouth making it dry with thirst; he remembered the sound of the guns, the rush of the battle; he remembers seeing his friends- _his brothers in arms_ shot and dead or sent home, invalid. He remembered the look of glee his godfather had when he died (" _It'll be quicker than falling asleep, surely."_ ); he remembered the way the American -Tonks- threw her head aback and laughed before being shot between her eyes (She always managed to sneak hair dye into camp- Harry never discovered how); he remembered Ron being shot and sent home; George crying over his brother's dead body; Fred who died rescuing the ambassador, Percival Weasley, his older brother.

Then there was Harry, who survived through his five years of serving and returned with a shiny medal he didn't deserve and a new set of demons.

And suddenly, nothing's in the past, nightmares and sand crawled up his throat with his memories and screaming, " _Let us out, Harry Potter, let us rule your world."_

There are only two people in the world who have ever encountered Harry in his broken state. One was Dumbledore, who had come to him one night to profess of Sirius's death, and the other was Harry himself.

Harry, petrified, stared at the wall behind Ginny. "Love," he managed to crack, "not today, okay?"

He pressed his dry lips into her forehead, inhaling a small breath for comfort. Her shampoo smelled like a good mix of lavender and laundry detergent.

He could feel her relaxing at his side. "Alright, Harry." She tilted her head to brush her lips against Harry, before burying herself deeper in the sheets. "Goodnight, love."

"Goodnight, Ginny."

The house would hopefully stay silent for the night.

* * *

tbc.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry swears that he's being lied to whenever someone says that Saturdays are supposed to be relaxing, because no, Saturdays are not. The first day of the weekend just means everyone is home and there's more dishes to be washed. Don't get him wrong- he loved his children and Ginny, but being crammed under a roof that shudders when it's _not_ raining shortened his fuse.

"Harry, we need to fix the tiles."

"I know, Gin."

"And I think the kitchen sink's beginning to mold, too. We should get that done."

"Gin."

"And Lily needs a new door, the hinges are about to give, I swear."

"And how are we going to get the money?" Harry said in a half-hushed voice, taking a glance at Lily and the boys behind her.

The two were silent. Harry leaned on the kitchen booth.

"I'm not giving up shooting, Harry." Ginny answered, a frown dashing her features. "That gun is literally an extension of me."

"I don't expect you to," Harry said softly, taking her hands into his, "But we have to figure out something. I'll- I'll sell some of my air-soft stuff on E-Bay. You can keep competing."

"Harry, you need to get a job." Ginny quipped bluntly, raising her voice. She brushed a stray strand of auburn out of her face and crossing her arms. "Even if you babysit Neville's kids."

"Ginny, I'm already doing a horrible job at taking are of Lily, do you really expect me to take care of more?"

"You're not doing a horrible job, Harry." Ginny stated, eyes narrowing. "We're not going to talk about this now." All Harry could do was nod in compliance, seeing that Ginny was about to continue, not falling for the rabbit trail. "And maybe you could take up some classes."

"I _am_ taking classes, Ginny. The online writing courses, remember?"

"Harry," Ginny said, pressing her palms into his shoulders, "love. I know you like to write, but-"

"I know you don't think it will get me anywhere, but Gin- it'd rather do that then sign up for something I hate." He took her hands once again and looked at her pleadingly. "Please, Gin. You know what I mean."

She sighed, rubbing his knuckles with her thumbs. "Alright, love."

* * *

"Harry-"

"No thanks."

"You didn't even know what I was going to say."

"I'm not going to send any _Tommy Riddle_ _-_ related things."

"Harry-"

"Bye, 'Mione."

* * *

It's a Thursday.

The realization hit Harry when he's typing up another chapter of _Tommy Riddle and the Midnight Thief_ at 4:50 in the morning. Honestly, how he'd managed to miss midnight's arrival is confusing and frustrating. He started on chapter three at around 8 AM and was finishing chapter twenty-four at around the hour.

He heard Ginny start the shower, and imagine the hot spray covering his back with a sigh. She'd be out and all suited up for competition within the next fifteen minutes.

The thought of going back to bed was tempting, but the next trail of thoughts, _Would it even be worth it?_ prevailed.

Trying to distract himself from rubbing his eyes, Harry began to reread his work.

 _Tommy Riddle glanced around worriedly, before sending his younger companion a look. 'It's time, Theo.'_

 _Theodore frowned, suddenly interested in his frayed aglets. 'But Tommy, asdfghjklkjhgfdsasdfghjkjkhgfdsassddfuiyutterewqewetyyioipoklnmbvcfdswertyuijkjbhgcfddtfgjhjhbv.'_

Ginny, not at all surprised that her husband had face-planted into the keyboard, merely drew a blanket around him and switched the keyboard with a nearby pillow. She saved the document before powering of the PC.

The hum of the computer died, the house suddenly quieter than it had been within the past few nights. She gave him a quick peck on the head before scurrying to the car.

* * *

Today is the same Thursday.

The house is emptier than it has been in a while.

It echoes of imaginary footsteps of children playing and-

-of Harry's screeching tires as he was late with yet _another_ meeting with Hermione Granger.

* * *

"I have three _very_ good reasons!" Harry exclaimed, raising his hands up in surrender. A blur of black stained his right hand as he waved it around. "Traffic, had to drop off Lils at Nev's, and- this!" The black blur stilled to reveal a very boring-looking black journal that looked like it had gone through the trials of a sewer system, a teenager's bookbag, and a very, _very_ bad trip to the zoo. "Voila!"

"You got a diary?"

Harry grinned despite the insult, sliding the book inside of his pocket. (It was a pity that most women's pockets were either too tiny to fit even their hands- Ginny complained about it every other day religiously.) "Anyways, do you still want to go out for lunch?" Despite Hermione's constant peppering, she was a sister to him, and thus, impossible to ignore and abandon. "Well?"

Hermione's jaw dropped in shock. "Who are you and what have you done to Harry Potter?"

"I am the Chosen One and this-" Harry reached into his pocket to grab a well-creased sheet of paper. "-is my accomplishment for suffering may all-nighters." He tossed it across Hermione's desk, grin still slathered onto his features. "Read it."

"Certificate of-" At this, Hermione let out a squeal and hugged Harry. The desk between them did nothing to make the situation go downhill. "You have a degree in writing!"

"That I do!" Harry erupted before releasing his friend. "Now come on! I know a good Chinese place around the block!"

* * *

"No, Hermione."

"It's clear, Harry!" Hermione said, taking a bite out of her chow mien. "The certificate, Ginny's support- this is all meant to be!"

Calmer than before, Harry took a sip of the Red Bull he had purchased on their way to the restaurant and frowned. "No, Hermione, I'm not going to send you more _Tommy Riddle_." Another sip. "You don't even believe in signs and astrology, and you dislike magic, which brings me to ask- why _are_ you interested in Tommy Riddle?" Yet another sip, but this time aided with an accusing glare sent the brunette's way. "Is it a marketing scheme?"

"What- Harry, no."

' _I told you no, Sylvester,' Kim Ming said, shoving the jock off. Tears glistened in her eyes. 'I'm not going with you to the dance.'_

 _'Then who are you going to go with?' Sylvester jeered before leering over her tiny frame._

 _Kim Ming met Tommy's eyes, a brave gleam in her own. 'I'm going with Tommy Riddle.'_

"Harry- Harry?" She waved a hand in his face, snapping a few moments. "Harry?"

"Sorry." Harry replied, shaking himself out of yet another Tommy Riddle daze. "Hermione, if you want to use Tommy Riddle, then no, I'm not going to sell him to you." He took a large gulp of Red Bull victoriously, checking the time on his phone- 13:21.

"Harry, you didn't hear what I just said, did you." Hermione stated, sighed and twirling the noodles around with her chopstick. Using two pencil-like sticks to pick up greasy noodles was a mystery to Harry, which resulted in his use of the battled fork in his hand.

"I didn't need to." Harry said, poking at his crab rangoon.

Hermione sighed. "You're talented, Harry. You could be the next Gilderoy Lockhart."

"Gilderoy's just another YA writer who got lucky." Harry stated bluntly.

"He's not," Hermione protested a little too quickly. Under Harry's singular accusing eyebrow (which was raised above its normal elevation,) she looked at her lap. "But even if he was-" which was a thought she would be willing to debate (on Gilderoy's side, of course,) "-which he _isn't_ , he's still successful." At Harry's sullen, admitting look, she added, "Ginny told me you were sulking over the fact I got Luna to meet him."

"No I didn't!" Harry protested, and yawned. "Oh, shoot."

"What?"

"I'm going to crash soon." Harry mumbled. "Very soon. Hey, would you mind giving me a ride to my flat?"

"What about your car-"

"I had you drive us in yours for a reason." Harry stated before yawning again. About two other people yawned around him, and it rippled through the crowd like a tiny stone dropped in a large, still body of water.

Hermione's eyes flickered to the Red Bull. "I should have guessed." After waving over for the check, she asked: "Were you working all night towards the diploma?"

"Mm." Harry grunted. Whatever Hermione wanted to believe. Scratch that- whatever _he_ wanted Hermione to believe.

He rose out of his chair, fishing his wallet out of his pocket.

Hermione shook her head, taking her own wallet out. "You chose the place. Let me pay. Remember?"

"At least let me tip."

The publisher gave him a small, affectionate smile. "Nope."

"Thanks, Hermione."

"No problem, Harry." She waited until they were seated in her car to ruffle his hair. "You will think about my offer, won't you?"

"Not until after I take a nap."

"Hey, Harry?"

"Let me sleep, 'Mione."

"What's the diary for, anyways?"

She didn't know how to take the mumbled, "Tommy Riddle," as the answer.

* * *

tbc.


	4. Chapter 4

Teddy swung by twice a month, or if he was out of school, at least twice a week.

Even after Harry was given permanent leave, Andromeda wouldn't give her grandson up to the man her son-in-law placed as his guardian. In fact, the burning passion to keep Teddy away from Harry only festered after Tonks had died.

But neither Harry nor Teddy could really comply easily, anyways. After all, it was Teddy's choice.

Being seventeen, Teddy already had a developed sense of rebellion against his conservative grandmother. There was no doubt about it- with each trip to Tesco's made at midnight just to buy more turquoise and flamingo-pink hair dye, to the numerous piercings in his ear, Andromeda grew more frustrated while Harry's odd pride for the teen grew. However, Teddy wasn't a womanizer, which was probably a redeeming factor in Andromeda's eyes that kept him from being thrown out of the house. That, and that Teddy was the only Tonks/Lupin/Black heir left because no, she would not let her pompous blonde-haired relative to inherit the estate. (That also spurred another argument.)

"I'm thinking of getting a tattoo." Teddy revealed one day, on another spontaneous visit. "It'd be just like yours," he gestured to the lightning bolt under Harry's unmanaged fringes.

"No tattoos until you're eighteen." Harry had said sternly. "And it's a scar, not a tattoo."

Teddy's features drooped visibly. Harry had felt tempted to affectionately ruffle his hair, wondering if he'd perk up like a puppy would. He didn't, the want to reserve his dignity and Teddy's overcoming the want to pet the boy. I've got a parental consent form you could sign-"

" _No,_ Ted."

(Teddy still managed to get the tattoo. Harry found out from James after Boxing Day. "It was so cool, Dad! Can I get one?" " _No_.")

So when Harry found the teen leaning over his shoulder on a Tuesday at nine in the morning, Harry was hardly surprised.

Harry gave him a small glance before returning to the 70K manuscript of _Tommy Riddle and the Heir of the Golden Cobra_. "You could have knocked. Where did you get the key, anyways?"

"You're getting old- I swiped them from you last time I visited." Teddy replied, before reading over Harry's shoulder. After a minute of the sound of Harry's tapping fingers, Teddy spoke. "It's quite obvious Theodore's the Heir."

"Really?"

Teddy hummed again in conformation. Harry could see in his peripheral that Teddy swooped his left-arm over Harry's left hand to steal the stale toast that had been sitting on a napkin for days. "You keep going back to the crimson glint of the snake on his badge. See, you say it at least five times, and if you're not emphasizing that, you're hinting about 'the cobra's golden gleam' or 'the glint of hidden knowledge' in Theo's eyes."

That statement was reluctantly true. After writing for a week, Harry could feel his inspiration begin dry up.

Harry sighed, running a tired hand through his hair. Teddy continued. "Also, Theodore's House colors are red and gold and- _and_ he's a Slytherdor." He took a bite from the toast before placing it back on its napkin and forcefully swallowing it down. "Snakes _slither._ Could you be more obvious?"

Much like the Potter kids, Teddy was a member of the _Tommy Riddle_ fandom. (Harry had discovered the term after another irresistible midnight stroll on the fan-fiction website.)

"Fine." Harry said tiredly, highlighting the whole document and deleting it. He shimmied out of the chair and gestured towards the desk. "You try."

Teddy's blue eyes widened in shock before he hurriedly undid Harry's previous action. "You can't just delete stuff because you're frustrated, old man."

"Well, then don't play backseat driver." Harry said with more venom then he meant. He face-palmed, dragging his open hand until it dropped off his chin. "Ugh. Sorry."

"Hey, hey." Teddy gently sat Harry, and leaned on the desk casually. "What's wrong?"

Harry just banged his head on the keyboard silently. A blob of words consumed half of the screen.

"Talk to me, you geezer." Teddy continued, shaking Harry's shoulder.

He could hear his godfather's sigh. "Everything just has to revolve around Tommy Riddle."

Teddy huffed. "No it doesn't."

"Yes it does." Harry protested, raising his head just enough to sip the diluted coffee pushed to him. "Your Aunt Ginny wants me to stop writing and get a real job and Aunt Hermione wants me to send her more _Tommy Riddle_ books to publish. Also, Lils, Albus, and James- well, they want a new story nearly every day. I've gotten to the point where I have to ration my chapters." Harry leaned back on the chair, face looking up at the cracking ceiling. "And Rose- since when does she read fan-fiction?"

"She writes, too." Teddy swiped the coffee from Harry and took a thoughtful drink. "Now that I think about it, she's rather good, too. Not just for a twelve-year-old- when I say she's good, she's good."

"You read her stuff?" Then another thought popped into his mind. "Wait, you know her account?"

"Um, yeah." Teddy blinked. "I'm practically her cousin- we're close."

"Jut tell me her user." Harry demanded, already turning to open up a new tab with a strange sort of vigor.

"It's _ivorypetalsandrosecoloredkeys_ ," He replied, "No caps, and it's just strung as one word. Nope- no hyphen either. Or a period. Uncle, what part of- never mind." Teddy reached over Harry and typed the name in the search bar.

" _Ivorypetalsandrosecoloredkeys_ ," Harry repeated, mumbling as he scrolled through the rather lengthy list of stories, each having at least a solid five hundred reviews. "Wow."

Harry could sense Harry nod in pride. "Yup. That's my girl."

"Just- wow," Harry said in awe, before waving Teddy away. "Hey, can you go check on Lils? If she's not awake yet, you can wake her up- I'll make breakfast in a few."

The clock read 9:25 AM.

"Alright," Teddy complied, heading to the bedroom. "As long as you call in for me at school and tell them I'm with you."

"Mmm- wait, what? _Ted_."

* * *

When Teddy said Rose was good, he wasn't lying.

So when Rose left a cliffhanger on one of her most popular fics, _The Doctor's Other Life_ , he had to do one thing.

He called Ron.

"Harry- it's four in the bloody morning. What the hell do you need? It better be important."

"Can you get Rose?"

"Does Ginny know you're awake?"

"Ginny will be back from competition a week from now- it's a Tuesday, right?"

"No, mate- it's Wednesday."

"Oh. Can you get Rose, though?"

"She has to wake up for school in three hours- can't you wait until then?"

"It's important."

After ten painstakingly long minutes on hold, Rose's voice sounded through the line. "Uncle Harry? What do you need?"

"I need you to update _The Doctor's Other Life_. Now."

There was a silence at the end of the line. Harry wasn't sure if she just placed down the phone somewhere and decided to ignore him until he hung up- he would plead guilty if anyone asked him if he used the tactic before. "Did you seriously call for that? I have a life, you know."

"You also have at least five fan-fictions with over fifty-thousand words with at least a hundred reviews each."

"Wait, how did you find it?"

"It?"

"The-" she lowered her voice, "-account. Dad want me to delete them."

"Them?"

"I might have more than one?" Rose whispered, her pitch rising at the end of her sentence, as if she was saying a question. "Dad found all of them."

"Teddy didn't tell me this!"

"So Teddy's the one that ratted out on me?" Rose asked with an unsurprised voice, though Harry could sense her hurt.

"I might have forced him."

"You didn't have to call to remind me to update _TDOL_ \- I was going to do it later today."

"Rose, do it now."

Rose's sigh sounded like muffled static. "I can't. Dad. But look, I have to go."

"Alright. Sorry for waking you up, Rose."

"I'm not. I'm glad that you're actually talking to me."

The comment stung. "Sorry?"

"No- sorry, Uncle Harry, it's just." She sucked in a sharp breath.

"Rose-"

"Never mind. I'll update later. But while you're at it, check out _neoncathedrals._ No caps, no spaces, no nothing- just those two words strung together. He has some pretty good fics."

"Rose-"

"Bye, Uncle Harry. I know Dad doesn't say it, but he misses you- you never meet up with him anymore."

"Rose-"

"Goodnight. Or good day, whatever it is."

The phone call ended with an unwanted click. Harry stared at the screen for a moment before hitting the power button and tugging the blankets higher.

* * *

tbc.

* * *

AN: Or, in which the author has no clue how to end this chapter. Argh.


	5. Chapter 5

It is a Tuesday.

Correction: it is _the_ Tuesday Ginny Potter is to arrive at home.

And she does.

Ginny finds herself back in the familiar, weapons and gear safety stowed away in the two duffel bags she carried. James and Albus should be at school, while Harry and Lily were probably off running around doing errands that they have put off for too long.

Even before she stepped through the threshold, she could tell that the house was empty. Most people would think it was woman's intuition. She called it instinct.

Due to the rare quiet, there was a calming atmosphere in the house. Ginny's shoulders, which were still tense from the adrenaline of competition, relaxed minutely.

It was good to be home.

* * *

"Harry-"

"No, Hermione."

"At least-"

"Nope."

* * *

The second Harry saw her, he dropped the grocery bags he was holding, arms limp with relief. "Ginny."

"Mum!" A chorused shriek yelped, three children clamoring on top of each other to reach a common goal.

The happiness washed over her features unashamably. "Lily," she breathed, catching her daughter and swinging her around before positioning her on the hip, "James," she mumbled into her son's crown of dark hair, pressing a kiss before her younger son ran into her leg. She placed a butterfly kiss in between his eyebrows, mumbling, "Albus, Albus."

There was a tiredness in her features Harry couldn't place. There eyes exchanged for a brief moment: _We need to talk._

Harry swooped the fallen plastic bags into his hands, clearing his throat reluctantly. "I know you're excited to see your Mum, but she's had a busy day. She needs her rest."

"But Dad, we haven't seen her in a week!"

Harry knelt beside his eldest, giving him a firm look. "James, go ready yourself for bed. Albus, while James is using the bathroom, go read to your sister, yes?" He gave each of them a peck to the forehead, "I'll read to you another chapter tonight."

Albus, bought by the promise, eagerly tugged his sister into the direction of her bedroom. James scowled, but stomped away.

The two were left in the silent hall.

"Hey," Harry said, shoulders relaxing. Any pressure on seemed to lessen, the weight of running a household and their lives evening out between Harry and Ginny. "How did the semi-final's go?"

At this, Ginny's face clouded. "Apparently I made it to the finals," she started, "But..."

"But?" Harry prompted, giving Ginny a peck on the cheek before heading to the kitchen.

Ginny placed her palms on the counter, leaning forward for a better view of Harry. "I'll have to leave for France on Saturday and the money-"

Harry glanced at his worrying wife and gave her a comforting look, which seemed to do nothing to ease her. "We- we can work something out."

"Harry, we need that money."

"If you win that competition, we'll get more than twice the amount of traveling and lodgings."

"Harry, that's not the only problem."

"Oh?" Harry prompted curiously, as he placed the ice lollies into the freezer, rearranging a bag of frozen peas to shove the rest of the treats in. "What else?"

"My partner's dropped out."

"Donovan?" Harry asked.

Ginny made a face which caused Harry to send her a small chuckle. "Yeah, her."

"Ginny, love," he hesitated, making sure to meet her eyes, "I hate to say this, but I told you she'd back away once the competition gets hard."

"Shut up, Harry, I know," Ginny snapped, rubbing her temples together with her thumb and pointer finger. "I still need a partner."

His hands froze over a jar of Spam he was placing into the cupboard. "I can't compete with you, Gin."

"I know." Ginny said, stressed, rubbing a hand on her neck. "But you're the only other person who I know is a good shot."

"The kids, Ginny," Harry stressed in reminder, "Who's going to take care of the kids?"

"I know, I know, _I know_ , Harry," Ginny repeated, putting her face in her hands. "But, who am I supposed to partner with?"

"I think you and I both know who you could partner with."

At the look on Harry's face, Ginny's eyes widened in disbelief. "No."

"He's the only one who I know is as good as me, Gin."

"How about Ron?"

"We both know that Ron can't load a magazine without passing out." Harry replied, but with a softer, yet harsher voice.

"But- _him_?" Ginny exclaimed.

"He won't shy away," Harry replied, "Heck, he hasn't really gotten away ever since."

"But, _blimey_ , him?"

"Gin," Harry said, giving her a look. He stood, the now-empty plastic Tesco bags encircling him. "He's your best shot."

"I know," Ginny gave in, "but it's _him_."

Harry sighed tiredly, running a hand through his hair. "I'll talk to him for you sometime before the weekend, alright?" Harry said, moving to plant a light kiss on her forehead.

"Thanks, Harry."

"Anything for you, love."

* * *

Skimming through the bills shouldn't make Harry feel the sudden need to cry.

It also shouldn't make him avoid his wife's gaze.

But it did.

* * *

"Dad?" A quiet voice peeped.

"Yeah?" Harry asked, looking away from the computer to meet James's brown eyes. "It's after bedtime. What do you need, bud?"

James glanced at his feet, uncharacteristically shy. "I have a football game on Friday."

"Really? That's cool." Harry said, but watched as James kicked the carpet with his bare feet. There was definitely some problem. "Do you need me to drop you off?"

"Actually, I was wondering if-" another hesitation, followed by a hurried, "-if you'd come watch me."

"Course." Harry smiled, then reached to ruffle his son's hair.

James's eyes glanced up with an innocent light. "Really?"

"Yeah. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Would you miss it for Tommy Riddle?"

Ah. So that's what the problem was.

Harry rose from his chair to bend down to James's height. The younger Potter looked at the floor.

"Son, look at me." James tilted his head up to gaze into his father's eyes. "You are far more than Tommy Riddle. You are more significant, more important, and more- more my kid then he ever will be. That counts for all your siblings and if I-" Harry's eyes turned serious. "James, I want you to do something for me, okay?"

"Okay."

"If I ever forget that you are more important than he is, I want you to remind me." He placed his hands on James's shoulders warmly. "Got that?"

"Okay."

"Now let's get you-" He picked his son up and twirled him around, careful not to bump any breakable objects in the small room. "-back to bed."

"Okay," James said once again after he was put down, and yawned. "Can- can you read the next chapter?"

He was referring to the fifth chapter of _Tommy Riddle and the Chalice of Liquid Silver_. Which, Harry was in the middle of writing before James had hurried in. (Harry just ran out of the prewritten chapters- he'd need to do that once James and Albus were at school.)

"We can't read that until tomorrow- it'd be unfair to your siblings. But," Harry added before James had the chance to begin sulking, "I can read a chapter from the third book."

"Yay!" James exclaimed happily. Harry held a finger to his lips.

"You're siblings are still asleep, remember?"

"Oh," he lowered his voice, "Sorry."

Harry would've burst into a fit of laughter triggered by James's solemn expression if it wouldn't have been loud enough to wake the others. "Now come on," he whispered with a smile, "Which one do you want to read?"

* * *

tbc.


	6. Chapter 6

AN: This chapter's made out of mostly phone calls, due to the fact that I've forgotten to write conversations that are face to face. (Blame writing _Hello_ and _drag me down with chains of letters_.)

Enjoy.

* * *

It is just Wednesday.

To be more precise, it had quite literally just turned Wednesday. His smartphone glowed 00:00, the florescent lamp giving off a glow that reached the edge of the room. Ever since he was little, he'd been afraid of the dark. Maybe it was because he'd been shoved into closets for most of his childhood. For some reason, he never felt scared when he was deployed- the constant sound of shuffling, the late night games of Cluedo, the way they never really slept for long amounts of time. Either way, he wasn't alone. And now, he was, tired and in the state of mind that anything could make him jump.

Well, that anything being the sound of Hermione's ring tone, which was the sound of a trio of minions singing some Christmas tune. He assigned her the minions because they reminded him of her constant chattering.

He answered the phone. "Dang it, Hermione, what now?"

"Harry, have you consi-"

"Goodness, Hermione, no." He grumbled, "Did you seriously call right now just for the sake of Tommy Riddle?"

"Harry, I knew you'd be awake." She said, with the tone being some strange of hybrid _fatigue_ -and- _victory_ -and- _unsatisfaction_ , or whatever the word was. He was currently running on autopilot.

"Just shut up, Hermione." He said, though part of him didn't know whether to be touched or creeped out by the fact she knew his dysfunctional sleeping schedule.

"Alright, Harry," she relented, "But just make sure to get some sleep-"

"Bye, Hermio-"

"Wait, Harry!"

"What?" He said, annoyed.

"Ron... misses you. Just call him, alright? Get together with him sometime," she said, voice crackling with affection that could have been directed at either Harry or at her husband. Knowing her, it was probably directed to both of them. "He misses spending time with you."

"Alright."

"And make sure to send me that manuscript of _Tommy_ -"

" _Bye_ , Hermione."

He cut her off with the push of a button.

Twenty minutes later, he tucked into a bed that comes with too many layers of blankets for the summer. Sleep consumed him like a starving animal.

* * *

The clock showed 8:00 AM.

The boys and Ginny are already off to school and to practice, respectively, and Harry was once again left in a quiet house. Lily was still submerged in deep slumber.

He sat in front of the screen, caught in the simple case of awe- the type you get when you read or watch something mind-blowing and core-shaking.

It is still the same Wednesday, and goodness-

-how in the world does a twelve-year-old have such a way with words?

* * *

"Hermione?"

"Oh, good, Harry, you've rung," Hermione said happily, "-do you-"

"What's Rose's number?"

She ended up giving it to him, rather reluctantly.

"Hermione, why are you obsessed with getting me to send you a manuscript?"

"Because I think you could get far with it, Harry. And a good friend never pulls- she pushes."

After another few minutes of friendly banter, he hung up.

And found himself staring at the number he'd written down on the dining table (What? He didn't have any paper on him.) It sat between a prompt written in sharpie ( _honey, i love you, but i just can't smile)_ and an acrylic hand-print made by James when he was only two days old. (It was a tradition to stain the table- Albus had his hand-print near the foot of one of the legs, and Lily had hers split-middle on the belly of the old wood.)

Something in him wanted to immediately call Rose and bombard her with his many questions about writing. On the other hand, the words _neoncathedral_ (No spaces, all lowercase) draw to his attention.

He glanced at the clock. 8:40 AM.

According to the pattern, Lily would be waking up in fifty minutes.

That would be enough time to take a good nap- he knew he could use some sleep. After days of sorting through bills and chasing kids around, he deserved it.

 _Or you could read,_ another thought peaked.

He chose the latter.

* * *

- _knows it's wrong, but right now, with their teeth clashing and the thought of minemineohyesyesfinallymine racing through his mind, he can't help but think_ -

The sound of choking brought Harry out of his thoughts. Harry looked sideways, glaring at Teddy. Today, the boy's hair was the same bright-blue Harry had seen last week, which surprised him- Teddy wasn't usually consistent; he was someone who thrived on change.

The blue-haired boy was peering over Harry's shoulder. "I'm reading."

"I can see that." Teddy spoke, trying to hide a strained voice.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Puberty?"

"Yeah, sure- I mean, yeah!" Teddy exclaimed after another suspecting look from Harry.

Harry, deciding to ignore Teddy's odd behavior, turned back to his screen. He scrolled down, frowning at the bolded author's note before him. "Dang her."

"What makes you think the author's a girl!" Teddy exclaimed indignantly. If Harry was surprised, he didn't show it.

"Most fan-fiction authors are," Harry pointed out, "but I can't believe they make promises like that. I get it, really, but-"

"It doesn't make it less frustrating?"

"Yeah," Harry said, nodding. "Yeah. If you promise to write, then write. At least give me an ending."

"You want an ending?" Teddy said, looking over Harry's shoulder again to read the author's note.

"Who wouldn't?" Harry scoffed. "I'm just one of the few." With this, he used his mouse to gesture to the right-hand corner at the review sign, the number 435 illuminating blue.

Teddy's unnatural silence caused Harry to turn. Teddy wore a grave expression of determination, his cheeks looking as if they were dying down from a sudden flush of red. "This fic hasn't been updated in nearly three years. What makes you think the author would update now?"

" _'Hope is what causes the humans to get up, to go on. Erik, even though you believe them to be inferior, they taught us something.'_ " Harry quoted from the fan-fiction he just read.

Teddy's ears heated up. "That's a bit melodramatic."

"It's true."

Teddy sighed, rubbing a key between his thumb and his middle finger- Harry presumed it was the extra flat key that Teddy had swiped. "You haven't sent me a new manuscript of _Tommy Riddle_ in three months. What makes me think that'd you'd give me one now?"

Ouch. That was a low blow.

Harry frowned, and unsure if he was towing a line, merely said, "Ted?"

Ted rose from his crouched position. "I'll wake up Lily- it's almost 9:20." He gave a rare kiss into his godfather's raven locks. "After this, I'm heading out. Study hall's almost over, anyways."

"Teddy-"

"Bye, Harry."

Harry wondered if that what Hermione felt like whenever he hung up on her.

* * *

"Rose-"

"It's unnatural for uncles to call their nieces whilst they are at school."

"I'm proud of you. I just wanted you to know."

* * *

"Ron, do you want to come with me to watch James's game on Friday? We're going out to ice cream afterwards. It'll be on me."

A considering pause. Harry placed the phone between his shoulder and his jawline, helping Lily get into her jumper. "Sure, Harry." Ron replied. "What time?"

"I can come around four. Now that I think about it, we could go round and pick up the rest of the kids, too. I'll bring the van."

"Okay." Ron said, surprisingly quiet.

"What? No 'Alrighty, mate!' or 'Should I bring the body paint?" Harry asked jokingly.

"No, mate, it's just-" Ron awkwardly took in a breath. Harry could imagine his friend staring at him underneath his ginger fringes. "I've missed you."

"Oh." Harry replied eloquently, clearing his throat and pausing his action. (Seriously- why did they make jumpers with buttons anymore?) "So have I. I mean, I've missed you, too."

"So, Friday?"

"Yeah, yeah." Harry said, "Okay."

"Are we okay?"

"Yeah. We're okay." A pause. "Okay?"

"Okay."

Another pause. Harry didn't remember him ever being this awkward around Ron. "Well, I have to go take Lily to the park."

"Alright. Bye, Harry."

"See you then, Ron."

* * *

tbc.


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Ha, I really don't know how to write Draco...

But, the idea of possiblyBAMF!Draco was fun to play with.

(Also, I just watched Inception, so Draco may or may not act more like Eames than Canon!Draco. Whoops.)

* * *

 _Tommy Riddle's features flushed with a sudden hue of bright red._ Harry inscribed into the beaten journal, leaning back in the cafe booth to kick his feet up. The waitress glared at him, but Harry continued, unfazed. _He tried not to meet Kim Ming's eyes as he said,_ _'We need to focus on catching the thief.'_

"Potter," A voice said above him. "Are you such a Neanderthal that you distinguish a table from a footstool?"

Harry looked up at the platinum blond who slid into the booth across. He closed the diary ( _Journal_ , he inwardly corrected,) before placing it into the seat next to him. "Malfoy." Harry replied evenly, kicking his legs to slide them under the table. He should probably feel under-dressed, seeing that Malfoy was in his usual grey suit and he was only in a pair of jeans and a ratty longsleeve, but they knew each other well enough not to be surprised.

Draco Malfoy, a crack shot and Harry's partner after Ron was invalid. Also, the only person in the world who was allowed to call Harry cheesy endearments. Not even Ginny would dare to. (There was a long, long backstory to that.)

The same waitress who had glared at Harry earlier now arrived to their table with a plastic smile directed at Draco. That bloody charmer. "Hello, boys," she said, leaning forward on her left palm, "Can I get you anything?"

"To Earl Greys, darling," Malfoy spoke with his signature drawl, ordering once for himself and the other for the green-eyed father sitting in front of him. He waved a hand. "And please do bring some sugar. Also, darling, it'd be fantastic if you took your time. Thanks. You can go now."

The girl frowned, but only scribbled down the orders. "Is that all, sir?"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at Harry, but kept the same expression when he turned back to the waitress. "I said you can go, now, darling."

Her frown deepened, but she scurried away.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow (the one he reserved when he was dealing with with people he considered to be annoying idiots [which to him was everyone,]) and remarked, "Oh, don't look at me like that. It was better to cut to the chase."

"You didn't have to be so rude, Draco."

"That was rude?"

"You also called her darling."

"What, jealous, _darling_?"

Harry scowled, but inwardly felt more at ease due to their light banter. Draco seemed to do that to him. Maybe it was the trust they both instilled in each other that neither of them wanted to admit. Maybe it was because Draco and he were two sides of the same coin- perpetually different, but constantly there to back each other up. "Ginny and I were both surprise when you had the same number," Harry stated, changing the topic.

"Why did you call me?" Draco asked, "I feel special, but you know it's dangerous for both ends."

"Why not?" Harry teased lightly, "Do I need a reason? Don't say you didn't miss me."

"The fact that you called me means that _you_ missed _me_ , darling." Draco quipped back with a smirk. "Now, just get to the point. I have a job to prep for."

"Another job?" Harry asked curiously, "Care to tell me anything about it?

"Considering that I'm apparently so easy to track down due to the fact that I still use the same phone number," Draco said, nodding at Harry, "it's probably a set up. But it'd be fun just to twist their pants again."

"I can't believe you're in this business."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I had to do something after your entourage and yourself tore down my father's empire."

"My entourage- what, you mean the DA?" Harry sighed, eyes flickering from the pale face to two men behind him. "Never mind, don't answer that- the walls have ears."

"You're cute when you're concerned, darling." Draco said, before reaching out and poking Harry's scar with his pointer finger. "And especially with the scar, too. You could shed the glasses, though- you and I both know they're not the right prescription."

"You need to keep your mouth shut." Harry warned, but sent him a grin anyways. When they weren't rivals, they were... friends, Harry liked to put it. Both of them just left it at that, determined not to dig into the complexity of their relationship.

The waitress arrived with two mugs of steaming tea and a handful of sugar packets.

Draco fished out a disheveled pile of notes and shoved them in the direction of the waitress. "That's for keeping your mouth shut and keeping away. Don't come back unless we call you, alright, love?"

The waitress, who was in a state of shock, dumbly nodded and shoved the money into her apron pockets before hurrying away.

"You didn't need to do that."

"Of course I did." Draco scoffed, raising his mug and blowing before taking a cautious sip from his tea. "But darling, please get to the point. I actually have a job I need to get to."

Harry rolled his eyes before taking a sip of tea himself. "Ginny needs a partner for her competition."

A silver spoon stirred the sugar around in contemplation. "When and where?"

"From this Saturday to the Saturday after the next one, and... Paris?"

Draco froze his stirring and cursed in what Harry assumed was French. Or Arabic. Harry wasn't very good with languages. "Paris? Of all the places."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "What did you do?"

"That's confidential." Draco muttered, retreating to sipping his tea. "But I can tell you it involves a llama, our dear king's crown, and several thousand euros. Wait, do we even have a king?"

"We have a queen, Draco." Harry corrected before growing serious. "But Draco- please say yes. Ginny and I need the money from the competition."

"I can always give you-"

"No."

Draco hummed in acknowledgement. "Fine, I won't give it to you. You and your pride, though, Potter."

"You and your habit to collect debts."

"Alright, I see your point. How long's the job?"

"Two weeks."

"I can fit it in," Draco conceded, "But why can't you enter? You're a better shot than I am."

It was one of the only compliments Draco would ever say. It was also very false- Harry lost count of how many times Draco had to cover for him.

(He also forgot how many firefights they've fought on opposite sides, but that was a different story.)

"I have kids to take care of."

"How about a nanny, Potter?"

"Too expensive."

Draco cocked his head to the side curiously, narrowing his eyes before asking, "Where's Lily?"

"With Neville. I drop her off at their place when I need to run errands, but I can't leave the kids there for a whole two weeks."

"Ah." A considering pause. "What do I get out of this job?"

"A favor."

"I thought you didn't want to be in debt to me again, dearie."

"It'd be worth less than if I accepted any money from you."

Draco eyed Harry with some sort of strange respect, nodding. "You know me well enough to know what I want, darling."

"It comes from being forced to partner with you. Plus, you know me well enough to know what type of tea I drink." Harry said, huffing before offering a hand. "So is it a deal?"

Draco sighed, shaking it. "Dang it, Potter."

Harry took his wallet and placed a few notes on the table. He slid out of the booth, grabbing the diary. "I'll see you on Saturday? My place?"

"If I haven't fled the country again." Draco said, following the dark-haired man's suit. "I have work to do. Goodbye, Potter."

"Goodbye and good luck, Draco." Lowering his voice, Harry added, "And please don't kill the Queen."

* * *

It was a Thursday, and thirty minutes later Harry still didn't understand why he stuck by Draco.

* * *

"Harry-"

"I'm bringing some Thai food over to the office right now. If you want to talk to me, do it then."

"...Harry, have you talked to Draco recently?"

"...how did you know?"

"You're still stuck in that tone of voice you always use for him." A confused pause. "You know, the _I-love-him-like-my-brother-but-he's-a-bastard_ one."

"...I'll be there in ten. Bye, Hermione."

* * *

"Hermione, no." Harry rejected. "Look, you don't have to lie to me and tell me I have talent, okay? I know you've read a rough draft of _Tommy Riddle and the Dragon Stone_ , I know you know I have better drafts and more installments, and I know you want to market it. But seriously, just admit that you want my books so you could sell them, alright?"

"Do you seriously believe I'd do that! That's I just want your manuscripts so I could make money!" Hermione cried out, sending Harry an incredulous look. "I'd never use you like that, Harry."

"Then why do you want the manuscript?" Harry asked, raising his voice.

Hermione searched his eyes before understanding peaked in her mind- Harry Potter had been used his whole life. He was practically a servant to his uncle until he got drafted into the military where he was used to fight, until he came back home with a stagnant life.

Harry didn't understand why Hermione kept pushing him. And well, she'd just have to make him see, wouldn't she.

Hermione started off with an exasperated sigh. "If you don't want to show me any more _Tommy Riddle_ stories, you don't have to." She stated, watching Harry's features twist into further confusion, "I'll drop it, even. But Harry," Here, he looked up to meet her steady gaze, "You have- you hold some sort of magic when you write. You have a way to make the words you choose spin. And if you want your story to remain within the circle of Ginny, Ron, me, and the kids, that's okay. As I said, I'll drop it, Harry. But just think about it." She hesitated, "And- I can try to get Gilderoy to meet you. Maybe if he tells you your story's are good, you'll believe him."

"Gilderoy's-"

"I know what you think of him." Hermione stated, frowning, "But he really has some good advice. Look, Harry- just think about it. These books can take you far."

"We'll see, Hermione." Harry said, frowning.

"Okay, Harry. My door is always open, okay?"

Harry got up, saying something about needing to pick Lily up before hugging the publisher. "Thanks, Hermione."

"No problem, Harry. See you around."

"Yeah, see you."

* * *

Today was a Thursday, and this time- this time Hermione's offer had stuck.

* * *

tbc.


	8. Chapter 8

AN: **Warning/Trigger: Mentions of suicide and a panic attack.**

* * *

It's a Friday.

Being a good father, Harry sat in the bleachers and cheered his son hard, occasionally shouting at the referee.

But being an honest man, he'd admit to Ron:

"Mate, how in the world does this game work?"

"You really don't know?"

"... so they just kick it?"

"Well, they have to try to get the ball in the goal-"

"Wait, why is he going the wrong way?"

"He's on the opposite team, Harry, he's supposed to go the wrong way."

And maybe Harry didn't get it, and maybe Ron was only pretending to, but all in all, Harry didn't remember how much fun he used to have with Ron.

And to be honest, neither did Ron, concerning Harry.

* * *

"How'd I do, Dad?" His eldest asked him, chocolate ice cream escaping from the corners of his mouth and dribbling on the already-dirt-caked jersey.

Harry could see how his son was grinning with his features glowing with adrenaline and Harry cannot help but bring the sweaty boy closer into a hug. The eight-year-old squirmed, but didn't protest. "I am very proud of you, my boy."

The way James beamed made Harry forget about the sun- it didn't just come from his chocolate-covered grin, it came from his face, his body, his hands.

Harry wondered if he ever felt that happy when he was that young.

James's reaction made up for it if he didn't, though.

* * *

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"We'll see."

"... That's a better answer than all the ones before. Thanks for giving me a chance, Harry."

"Thanks for giving me the chance, Hermione. See you soon."

"Likewise."

* * *

It's still the same Friday.

The clock read 11:54 PM.

Harry nearly glowed brighter than the computer screen.

He just finished editing _Tommy Riddle and the Dragon's Stone_.

He didn't mean finished as in he'd work on it tomorrow.

He meant finished as in the manuscript was finally ready to publish.

All 76,944 words.

If he hollered loud enough to wake up Ginny and the kids, he didn't care.

If he felt like throwing an ice-cream party with his family at around 1:00 AM, he might have.

And if he considered sending the manuscript to Hermione, well, that was sure to be arranged.

* * *

Harry's life always seemed to follow a pattern- that pattern being that most major things tended to revolve around the night hours.

Today was no exception.

The clock had just hit Saturday. Harry, with his right hand over the mouse and his left hovering over the backspace button, was editing _Tommy Riddle and the Golden Cobra_ since 12:00 PM. The kids hadn't dared to disturb him, Ginny hadn't dared to disturb him- it was as if he was in a bubble containing only himself and the computer. The whole twelve hours was filled with the same, repetitive process- copy, paste, delete, cut, fill in a plot-hole, copy, paste, delete, cut, etcera.

So when a companion decided to read over his shoulder and _breathe_ , Harry ended up elbowing him in the face.

Hey, twelve hours without human contact did something to Harry.

"Potter- goodness!" A clogged-nose exclamation from the familiar blonde made Harry look behind him. Draco keeled over, holding his bleeding nose. "Hello to you too."

"How long were you there?" Harry asked, "And how did you get in?"

"About a good thirty seconds," Which Harry interpreted as thirty minutes, "And Teddy."

Harry cursed under his breath, rising to offer a hand to Draco. Draco took it, using his legs to push himself from the floor and holding onto Harry for balance. "How much did you read?"

"Nothing, darling."

"Draco."

Draco sighed, rolling his eyes. " _'So you're Tommy Riddle,' the purple-eyed boy stated, peering at him with badly hidden interest. 'Hm. I thought you'd be taller. 'Well,' Tommy rep-_ "

"You can shut up now, Draco." Harry said, though he was holding back a laugh. "No need to show off your photographic memory."

"When you weren't scrolling down too fast, I managed to catch a few words. Now I see why Granger wants you."

Harry choked, giving Draco a strange expression. "Pardon?"

"Wants to publish your manuscripts, I mean." Draco continued, giving Harry a strange look. "What did you think I said, Potter? Is your mind really that-"

"How did you know about that?" Harry asked quickly, trying to deter Draco's retort, but ended up receiving a raised eyebrow. "The publishing fiasco."

"Hermione and I have a past." Draco stated, vaguely.

"And how did I not know about this?"

"Drop it."

"Draco-"

"I said, drop it Potter." Draco barked, voice somehow echoing around the carpeted room.

Harry raised his hands up in surrender, but sent him a glare. "Be quieter, will you? They're all still sleeping."

"Sorry, darling." Draco said playfully, though he was clearly still tense. "I didn't know you'd be that curious. Besides, this relationship is the one that matters."

Harry scoffed. "Speaking of past relationships, how's Astoria?"

"Elsewhere with Scorpius." Draco said, waving one hand vaguely in the air while the other one was trailing the desk, as if trying to find something. "Please tell me you have a printed manuscript."

"Of which one?"

"Which one, darling? Oh, I didn't know you had more _Tommy Riddle_ installments." The silver-eyed boy turned, his pale features glowing eerily in the PC's light. "The first one, then."

Harry grabbed the binder containing the final of _Tommy Riddle and the Dragon's Stone_ , handing it to Malfoy. Draco opened it immediately, skimming it as if it was a mission file, not a fictitious work.

Draco collapsed on a nearby couch, thumbing the pages. After a moment of silence, he raised an eyebrow at Harry. "What, do you really expect me to be tired after a chase through the Underground?"

"I would be."

Draco sent Harry a face before turning back to the manuscript. "You're a civilian now. I never was."

Harry couldn't argue that.

* * *

The day hasn't budged, save for a few crawling hours.

Ginny gripped her gun license tightly in her hands, knuckles growing white partly due to the clenching and partly due to the nervousness thrumming through her veins.

It's almost five in the morning. The kids scrambled out of bed two wish their mother good luck on a competition they barely know anything about.

Draco watched in the distance, a pained look on his features. Harry pretended he didn't catch it, knowing it would be more trouble if he acknowledged it. He doesn't want to know how it felt to be separated from loved ones due to a series of stupid mistakes, seeing each other only every other Christmas and never on birthdays or anniversaries.

That's the reason why Harry didn't search for a 'job' immediately after he was sent home. If he had to give up the rush of adrenaline for the sake of a domestic family life, he would. And he did.

Once the pained look passed, Harry approached Draco with his own firm expression. "Nothing will happen to her."

Draco chuckled. "Of course not, dearie. Never." Draco made a two-fingered salute. "See you, Potter."

Ginny left with two duffel bags, a small suitcase, and a home to go back to. Draco left with his own duffel bag and no other anchors to hold on to.

Harry wondered how different things would be in the morning.

* * *

Today is a Sunday, and Harry has forgotten how to breathe.

He tosses and turns, the feeling of sand washing down his lungs and making him gasp, _GinnyGinnyGinnyohGinnywhereareyouIneedyouplease_ but the bed is empty so he just whimpers and tosses off the blankets because they feel too hot- everything feels too hot and even though he could see the moonlight he can only feel the sun beating on him and shouting _Move or die, soldier, move or die,_ and Harry thought, _I don't want to move,_ and the sun suddenly morphed into his very dead general (-a great general, a good man-) who kept shouting _You have to move, Harry, move, do you want to die?_ and Harry replied, _Maybe I do._

Their faces flash before his eyes and they meld into one being of _RemusSiriusTonksFredColinSeverusCedricDumbledoreMummDadMUMDADREMUSSIRIUS_ and those words just repeat and push him to, _Move, Harry, move! You have to move, Harry, move!_ and this time he inwardly shouted _I don't want to move, I don't want to move, don't you get it? I don't want to move, I don't want to-_

And there's no one in the almost-dark (the sun beats down heavily, the kevlar making his chest seize) and there's a gun in his hand and the general is shouting _Move, soldier, move!_ and he keeps protesting with, _I can't, General, I can't, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'msorrysorrysorry_ , apologies being run through with silver tears, like silver thread being weaved into the night. His hands begin to load the magazine unwillingly, and _nononononnonono_ he doesn't want to no he can't why is he doing this _he doesn't want this_ he doesn't want this unforgiving life and this unforgiving mantra _, nonono please no I don't want to move but I don't want to die but whywhywhy_ \- and then there's the trigger, and he struggles to open his eyes when he begins to pull, because he can't close his eyes without remembering their faces, he can't-

The gun clicks. A vague, rational thought runs through Harry's mind, remembering that the gun isn't load. Remembering that the gun hasn't been loaded for years, and there was no ammunition in the house that would fit in the magazine.

5:00 in the morning should feel better than the ever-haunting 00:00, but the way the clock furiously glared at him made him feel as if he was a dying plant shriveling to nothing in the desert sun.

* * *

tbc.


	9. Chapter 9

AN: Event-hopping is weird. Also, if you're the first to spot a book reference, kudos to you.

* * *

"Dad?"

"Yeah, James?" Harry asked, not looking away from his screen. (He was writing the next chapter of _Tommy Riddle and the Silver Chalice_ , determined to finish it before the kids' bedtime arrived.)

"I have a book report due at the end of the school year."

Harry frowned, but continued to type. "But didn't school just start two weeks ago?"

"I know, but can you-" James made a face at this own hesitation, "Can you-"

"No need to be shy, kiddo." Harry interrupted without impatience, finally taking the time to meet his son's eyes. He hunched forward to get to a more intimate level. "Do we need to go to the library? We can find something there."

"No, but _canyoupublishaTommyRiddlebookbeforetheendoftheyear_?" James spoke at such a fast speed Harry nearly felt a whiplash. The boy looked down at his tattered sneakers, biting his lip nervously.

"Pardon?" Harry asked gently.

Taking a deep breath, James met Harry's eyes with a determined expression before speaking deliberately: "Can you publish a Tommy Riddle book before the end of the year?"

Harry felt a stir of pride mixed with affection. "What?"

"Can you publish a Tommy Riddle book before the end of the year?" James repeated, nervousness still laced into his voice. "Miss Umbridge said that it had to be a published book, not a manuscript." James frowned at the memory. "She said that I shouldn't write about your 'fantasies.'"

Good old Miss Umbridge, trying to convince him he was an incapable of being a father, that he was incapable of doing anything.

However, Harry didn't linger on that particular part of James's rambling.

"Well- I-"

James left his father in a state of gaping shock.

* * *

Today is a Wednesday.

Harry let Albus cross off another day on the calendar.

Eleven more days.

* * *

"Tommy Riddle," Harry mused, glaring at the screen before him. Yes, Tommy was supposed to watch Cillian die (- _Cillian, not Cedric, Cillian-)_ , and yes, Tommy was supposed to take the chalice and go, but the _words_ , where were the words when he needed them, _why weren't the words coming_ -

"Go screw yourself, Riddle." He growled in response, unplugging the computer before leaning back on his chair to frown at a further distance. "I don't care anymore."

He did care, of course, because he managed to hit the shortcut of save before the computer died.

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair.

Stupid writer's block.

* * *

 _To my godfather, who will hopefully never see this._

Harry stared at the dedication in horrific realization.

 _Because if you do, I'll probably never live this down._

And yeah, maybe he was reading fan-fiction when he had other things to do, like write more Tommy Riddle chapters or call Ginny to see that she hasn't killed Draco, but _neoncathedrals_ had a talent for making him feel connected.

"Um, Harry?"

Harry turned to find Teddy lounging on the small couch, only a few meters away from the desk. The bubblegum pink-haired boy ( _He must have ran out of blue dye_ , Harry mused) scrutinized him, before his own lips curved into a frown. "Do you need me to do the shopping tonight?" He held up his hands in surrender at Harry's incredulous look. "I won't steal anything, I swear. You need to trust me, geezer."

Harry could hear the badly-concealed hurt in Teddy's voice. "Sorry, but no, Ted. Isn't it a school night tonight, anyways?"

"I'm going to help you with the kids as much as I can," Teddy stated casually, shooting him a look that read _oh-no-you-old-geezer-don't-start-lecturing-me-now_ , "and no, old man. You can't stop me."

"Ted, you-"

"Harry." Teddy said firmly, giving him a look. "I still have plenty of sick days to spend, okay? And I've done my school work ahead for the next two weeks. Consider my help as an early Christmas present."

"Teddy, you can't." Harry protested and stood, crossing his arms. "You need the grocery list and my bank chip. Plus, the chip machine doesn't work without my signature."

"The grocery list is on the kitchen counter," Teddy rolled his eyes, taking an all-too-familiar leather wallet out of his back jean pocket. He tossed it a few times before sending his godfather a smirk. "I can forge one. How do you think I got the tattoo?"

"Teenagers." Harry said affectionately, despite himself, before raising his eyebrows at the seventeen year old. "But don't by anything that's not on the grocery list, don't lose the chip-"

"Relax, you're growing tense." Teddy teased, "It must be from growing old."

"It must be from worrying about you."

Teddy threw his hands in the air, cocking an eyebrow in a mock-challenging manner. "I'm seventeen, Harry. I'm a big boy." He pivoted his foot, heading for the door. "I'll be back in an hour."

Once the door shut, Harry stared at the empty couch before him and groaned.

Seriously, this kid would be the end of him.

* * *

"Hermione?"

"Hi, Harry! Look, I'd love to chat, but I'm in the middle of something. Do you want to come by for lunch later?"

"Maybe. I'll ask Ted if he'll be okay with-"

"Sorry, Harry, I really have to go. See you later!"

"B-"

CALL ENDED.

* * *

 _Mione,_ Harry texted in the late in the afternoon, Lily tugging at his sweatpants and a hot bowl of rice in his dominant hand- how _did_ people manage to text quickly with one hand? _Sry I couldn't make it to lunch. Do you want an edited copy of the first TR book?_

* * *

"Ted," Harry groaned after another night had arrived, "I have taxes to do and a wife to call, but all I want to do is read fanfictions. What's wrong with me?"

"You sound like a teenage girl," Teddy teased, "That's what's wrong. Also, you've started to call me Ted, not Teddy. Please don't make it a habit," Teddy beggeded, handing Harry something that resembled the hybrid of a telly remote and a juice box. "However, you're kids are geniuses, so you're not completely off your rocker. Then again, Aunt Ginny's their mom."

"What-" The box felt sticky as he ran his thumb over the various buttons and wires- where did they find those? "-oh."

"That they are." Teddy said, sighing as he plopped next to Harry, who had risen into a sitting position when the object was handed to him. "They teamed up to make a walkie-talkie."

"And it works?"

"They still need to make another one," Teddy admitted, "But-"

Harry felt his pride threatening to burst out of his chest before groaning and placing his face in his hands. "And I can't even publish a book."

Teddy decided that the wisest thing to do was to soothingly rub his godfather's tense back. "If you keep thinking like that, old dog, you'll never learn any new tricks."

Harry groaned, craning his neck into an uncomfortable position just to glare at his godson. "That was horrible."

Teddy grinned cheekily. "But true." Harry relaxed into his previous position, letting Teddy continue kneading his back. "But really, though, if you think like that you'll never do anything worth leaving behind."

Harry could feel Teddy's eyes behind him, and without looking at them, he could tell his godson's orbs were steady and dark and serious.

The air shifted, exiting the room and leaving them in stillness. There's something about the after-hours of the day that spring up the darker topics.

"Teddy."

Breathe in, breath out.

"You keep saying that you want to give up," Teddy began slowly, treading water, "But this is not just about Tommy Riddle, is it?"

So Teddy's noticed then, too, noticed how much Tommy Riddle reflects Harry's own self, though he'd been careful about distancing the two personalities. Noticed how Harry recounts the faces of the dead, slipping them into his stories to remember, because even if he doesn't want to hold on he want to remember how Sirius looks like when he laughs, how Tonks's nose scrunches when someone called her Nymphadora, or how Remus was always there to advise him when Dumbledore wasn't.

Teddy's noticed how Harry is standing with a foot in two different worlds, and the chasm beneath him is widening and how Harry's slipping and soon he'll have to chose which world to live in and he wants to live in the now, in the present day, but he wants to remember without the pain, to and _there's_ a knife that comes with never letting go.

"I fought a war," Harry answered after a needed silence, "Isn't that enough?"

"You're still living in that war," Teddy continued slowly, knowing that he was dipping a toe a minefield. "But you have kids now, Harry. And me. And Aunt Ginny and Aunt Hermione and the whole Weasley side of the family. And well, war's not exactly what you want to hold on to, is it? When you do- when you do die, do you want to leave a memory of war? Of scars?"

"Teddy, Teddy, Teddy," Harry began softly, turning around fully to face his godson, whose face was as drawn and as white as a sheet. "This isn't just about learning new tricks, is it, now."

And something flashed quickly across Teddy's face, something that Harry's seen in himself so many times and something that twists Teddy's features into a shadow of anxiety.

"I saw you took your gun out of your bedside table." Teddy croaked out, looking smaller every second, his features own throat tightening, as if it was blanketing him in needed suffocation. "It's not just you."

"Don't follow me into- into _this_ , Teddy."

"I'm trying not to," Teddy said a bit too loudly, his voice breaking against the small room and back to them, thoughts shattering into a thousand pieces. "And I am, Harry," He confirmed at Harry's paling face, "I am, I swear I am, I'm fighting, but Harry, it's hard to ask people for help, because you don't want to pull them down or- or you think that nobody'll look in your direction, so you drop hints right?" Harry rested his palms on Teddy's shaking arms and rubbing and trying to silently sooth _shh, shh now, I'm here,_ but the teen just stared emptily back with the fading pretense of courage, "But nobody notices, and when you come to someone, they're surprise, and most of the time they shove you away, and you try not to care, because caring is not an advantage, but- but- but-"

"Shh, shh," Harry mumbled, and though they're both too old for anxiety, Harry presses a comforting kiss into Teddy's crown of fuscia, like how he did when they were younger and he had to explain to Teddy that _no, Ted, Teddy, Teddy, Mommy and Da aren't coming back,_ and the world continued to crash down as Teddy continued to ramble incoherently into Harry's shoulder.

Harry remembered how the world turned on him at seventeen, and even though the war's long gone, it really isn't, at least not in his mind.

* * *

Today is a Thursday.

Teddy belatedly answers his grandmother's call with a simple two-word text: _I'm fine._

Harry gets up as the world turns, ready to face the sun.


End file.
